


Stars Shine Brightest (In The Darkest of Night)

by indecisive_penguin



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Canon Divergence, F/M, Intrigue, Romance, The Avengers Compliant, Thor Compliant, Thor: The Dark World doesn't happen, Time-Skip, action at every turn, no one likes odin, so much, so much ooc, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2878895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisive_penguin/pseuds/indecisive_penguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may have calmed some in the past two decades, but that doesn't stop him from being angry when he's confronted with the truth, not to mention his father's callousness. Everything after that is just a matter of decisions made during a worst case scenario.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Verse I

**Author's Note:**

> Out of the night that covers me,  
> Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
> I thank whatever gods may be  
> For my unconquerable soul.
> 
> \- William Ernest Henley, Invictus (Verse 1)

It’s been nearly 20 years.

Jane stops short, hands hovering over the counter top. She blinks, letting the happily percolating coffee pot before her slide out of focus.

Nearly 20 years since Loki and the Centauri.

Nearly 20 years since SHIELD had almost nuked New York.

Nearly 20 years since she’d last seen Thor.

She bit her lip, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly as she poured coffee into two mugs. On autopilot she put cream in hers and an exorbitant amount of sugar into the other.

During the mayhem of New York, SHIELD agents had whisked her away for her own safety. Afterwards, they’d immediately helped her set up a new lab in California. Because of both moves she’d had no time to try and contact Thor, and by the time she was settled he’d been gone for several months.

SHIELD had continued to move her over the next few years, until she’d finally put her foot down and had settled along the Hood River in Oregon. By then, her work wasn’t the main reason for her moving decisions.

She gets down a plate for crackers, still moving on autopilot.

Recently, she’d begun to feel uneasy. It’s like there’s an itch at the back of her neck, like she’s being watched.

Like something is coming.

She jumps when the doorbell rings, dropping the plate in her hands. It shatters on the floor and she winces, bending to pick up the pieces quickly.

A voice floats in from the living room.

“I’ll get it. You okay?”

“Fine!” She yells back, getting the hand-broom and a dustpan. The sound of bare feet on hardwood moves towards the front door as she dumps the shattered pieces of the plate in the trash and leans against the counter, suddenly exhausted.

She can hear the door swing open.

“Can I help you?”

A long pause, and then a voice that makes Jane’s blood run cold.

“We are looking for Jane Foster.”

* * *

Sif glances quickly to Volstagg, standing beside her on the front porch of a little suburban home in the Midgardian state of Oregon. After nearly 2 decades of searching, and some help from Heimdel, Thor had finally located Jane Foster. Unable to leave Asgard, he had sent them to collect her.

She takes a breath as she rings the doorbell, fully aware of how ridiculous they must look, the two of them standing there in full armor, prepared to try and convince Thor’s lady love to return to him.

It is not, however, Jane Foster who answers the door.

Instead, on the other side of the threshold is a young woman with dark blonde hair and pale, grey-blue eyes. She blinks at them for a second, eyes flicking to the axe slung over Volstagg’s shoulder, before speaking.

“Can I help you?”

Sif finds her mouth opening as she stares in surprise. The girl continues to glance between them, taking in their unusual garb and openly carried weapons without any outward hints of surprise.

One of her eyebrows ticks up and Sif realizes they haven’t responded. She clears her throat and speaks.

“We are looking for Jane Foster.” She says.

They are subjected to a long, slow blink before the girl turns to yell over her shoulder.

“Ma! It’s for you!”


	2. Verse II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the fell clutch of circumstance  
> I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
> Under the bludgeonings of chance  
> My head is bloody, but unbowed.
> 
> \- William Ernest Henley, Invictus (Verse 2)

Rory wonders about the strangers in their living room.

When she’d first opened the door she’d thought the ren fair might be in town, but then she’d caught the runes on the big man’s axe, signs of protection and swift death, and she’d felt something within her cry out in recognition.

The two had introduced themselves as Sif and Volstagg, though her mother had seemed to know exactly who they were before they said anything. She’d been pale and shaky while she’d shown them into the living room, Rory trailing after them.

Now they’re all sitting around the coffee table, the two strangers on the couch, her mother in the rocker, while Rory is curled protectively in the big arm chair. She’s cradling her mug of coffee, eyes focused on the woman, Sif.

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, but Rory is more than willing to let the strangers break it. They came here for a reason, and she’s curious enough to hear what they have to say.

It is her mother, however, who speaks first.

“Rory, why don’t you get some snacks for our guests?” The big man, Volstagg, jumps up, surprisingly agile for one so big.

“Yes, I will help you.” He declares.

Rory casts a quick glance to her mother as she stands and follows the red-head into the kitchen.

She can hear quite voices as she putters around, getting cookie and crackers out of the pantry. Volstagg is standing at the counter with a plate from the drying rack, looking expectant. She sets the packages on the counter and begins counting out snacks. When she looks up, the big man is looking at her almost reverently.

“What?” She asks sharply, a little uncomfortable with the sudden, close scrutiny. He looks quickly down at the plate, seemingly cowed.

“Terribly sorry, lass. It’s just, you look very much like a dear friend of mine.” She blinks at his explanation before going back to her task.

She casts a quick glance out the kitchen window as she brushes crumbs off her hands into the sink, before her head snaps up and she focuses on the back yard in a double take.

“What the hell are those?” She asks.

Volstagg is beside her in an instant, taking in the dark, twisted shapes coming out of the trees.

“SIF!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Stars Shine Brightest (In The Darkest Night) (aka: Hope of Morning). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I apologize in advance.


	3. Verse III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
> Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
> And yet the menace of the years  
> Finds and shall find me unafraid.
> 
> \- William Ernest Henley, Invictus (Verse 3)

Rory dreams of fire.

Volstagg’s warning cry had not come soon enough as more of the dark, twisted creatures had crashed into the front of the house, tearing the front door from it’s hinges and smashing through windows.

She remembers hearing her mother screaming, Sif’s shouts and the clang of metal on metal, even as she runs for the hall closet. Behind her, Volstagg swears in a language she doesn’t recognize as more of the creatures begin breaking in through the back-door.

One lunges at her and she straightens from her crouch, moving out from inside the closet to swing the metal bat as hard as she can, smashing it across the creatures face. It howls in pain and staggers back, making an angry clicking noise as it shakes itself, the three others with it converging on Volstagg.

He yells at her to run, but she stands her ground as the thing moves closer, beady black eyes fixed on the bat she has raised, ready to strike again. It lunges at the same time she swings, but its clawed hand is apparently much stronger than its face, slicing through the metal bat and forcing her to back up to avoid getting cut open.

What she’s not expecting is for one from the front room to get involved.

Volstagg’s shout is all the warning she gets, but she instinctively drops and rolls away. She feels, more than hears, its claws pass over her head before they bury themselves in the wall, leaving deep gashes behind. She comes out of her crouch and darts for the stove as the creature comes after her. When she whirls around, the fire extinguisher in hand, Volstagg has already felled two of his three opponents.

The one from the front room lunges at her and she unloads the extinguisher’s contents into its face. It gives an unholy shriek and claws at its smoking face as the other one moves around it. She moves to spray it, too, but it’s too quick, knocking the nozzle away and causing her to stumble.

Her butt hits the front of the oven and she throws herself to the side to avoid the creatures next swipe, causing it to instead hit the stovetop. The sudden smell of gas and the snap of the ignitor is followed quickly by blue flames that lick eagerly across the creatures black flesh. It shrieks and writhes, backing up as it tries to escape the flames, and lashes out blindly.

Rory is trapped against the wall with nowhere to go, but she manages to raise the fire-extinguisher at the last second, trying to shield her head. The creature which, in all it’s lumbering, has managed to set most of the kitchen on fire, hits the canister, which in turn smashes into the side of her head.

* * *

She wakes slowly, feeling groggy, her vision fuzzy around the corners. Even as she opens her eyes she can feel exhaustion pulling her back towards sleep, her head throbbing something fierce.

She blinks slowly, glancing down and taking in the fluffy black cat curled up on her chest with curiosity.

It blinks it’s huge green eyes at her, purring in contentment. Even as she feels herself slipping back towards sleep, Rory smiles, feeling safe.

When she wakes next, the cat is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not sorry.


	4. Verse IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It matters not how strait the gate,  
> How charged with punishments the scroll,  
> I am the master of my fate,  
> I am the captain of my soul.
> 
> \- William Ernest Henley, Invictus (Verse 4)

Thor paced the length of his room, feeling restless.

Jane was visiting her child, Aurora, again, accompanied by his mother. Despite his impatience, he was trying with every fiber of his being to give her space. He understood how she could feel overwhelmed. Not only had they not seen each other in almost twenty Midgardian years, but her home had been invaded and destroyed and she and her child had been displaced to a different world within the span of a day. Not only that, but her child had been injured in the process.

Thor stops, frowning as he stares into the distance.

If he is to be truly honest with himself, the arrival of the child had thrown him completely.

He remembers, vividly, watching Volstagg stagger into the healer’s rooms, carrying the unconscious woman in his arms, blood running thick down the side of her face. At first, he hadn’t understood why, exactly, his friends had brought back two women when he’d only sent them for one, but it had become starkly obvious when Jane hurried in a moment later, pale faced and shaking.

She had been loathe to leave Aurora’s side, but had eventually been coaxed away by Frigga to eat and sleep. Thor had found himself standing briefly beside the girl’s bed, feeling his heart break a little as he looked at her. He had quickly shaken himself and left, knowing the curl of jealousy in his gut was unwarranted.

He had left Jane alone for twenty years, it was understandable that she would eventually find someone else to share her life with. He cannot expect three days and two nights to have kept her bound to him.

However, that does not mean that the appearance of Aurora Foster doesn’t feel like a slap in the face.

He stops, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, to try and center himself.

He will not allow Aurora, or the knowledge of her parentage, to affect his feelings for Jane.

* * *

“Thor, come in.” Frigga doesn’t need to look up to know that her eldest son is lurking just beyond her door, no doubt wanting to speak with the woman sitting beside her. Jane looks up, face flickering briefly before settling on a neutral expression as Thor enters the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

He strides up to their table, bowing slightly.

“Mother, Lady Jane.” He greets them both, but his eyes remain firmly on Jane. She meets his gaze and Frigga can see heartbreak reflected in both their eyes.

“Why don’t you join us?” She asks, motioning for her son to pull up a chair. Once he is seated, she turns to Jane.

“Now, you were speaking of Lady Darcy?” She prodded gently. Jane casts a quick glance to Thor before haltingly continuing her story, which revolves around Darcy Lewis’ latest attempts of trying to convince Aurora to go clubbing with her (whatever that is). This apparently hadn’t gone over very well and had resulted in a shouting match between the two women.

This, of course, leads to a detailed account of Aurora’s schooling, her quick advancement through “High School” and “College” both apparent points of pride for Jane.

An hour later and Thor’s brow is thunderous with confusion.

“Wait, did you not say she was working for Mr. Selvig?” He asks. Jane, who has warmed considerably to his presence over her storytelling, nods.

“Rory was working for him while she was going through her bachelors program, but it was mainly a side project to keep her busy. She had a paying job during the summers, to help pay for groceries and such.” She explains.

Thor frowns.

“Why did she need to work? Should her father not be providing for you both?” He asks.

There is utter silence for a few heart stopping seconds where Jane stares at him, her mouth slightly open in shock.

“You…what?” She manages weakly. Thor’s frown deepens.

“Is it not the responsibility of the father to care for his wife and heirs? I understood that most Midgardians shared Asgards views on this.” He asks. Jane’s face has gone from shocked white to angry red.

“Well, usually it is, unless he decides to leave them behind for 20 years!” She yells, voice wavering with unshed tears. She pushes herself to her feet and flees the room, leaving Thor staring after her in horrified silence.

“Is she…?” He trails off, seemingly lost for words. Frigga smiles into her glass. As she sets it down, she turns her gaze on her son.

“I believe what Lady Jane is trying to say, my son, is that Aurora Foster may be more of Asgard than you initially thought.” She lets her words hang for a moment before patting his hand.

“Perhaps you should go after her? I believe you both have some things to talk about.”


	5. Verse V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you, Are you  
> Coming to the tree  
> Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free
> 
> \- James Howard Newton and Jennifer Lawrence, The Hanging Tree

Uncle Selvig’s stories about the glory of Asgard pale in comparison to the real thing.

Behind her the spires of the castle reach upwards to brush the sky, glowing gold in the sunlight. Around her stretches lush gardens and babbling streams, all masterfully crafted to appear natural, though there is an odd sort of order to the whole place that belies the work of humanoid hands. She strolls leisurely along well tended paths, stopping often to sniff blooms and run careful fingers along velvet soft petals. She laughs lightly as butterflies dance through the warm air, watching their vividly colored wings flutter as they pass her.

She stops underneath a blooming tree, it’s soft pink flowers open to the sun. A stone bench underneath its gnarled branches provides the perfect place to stop and rest, and observe.

Rory knows she’s only so giddy because she’s spent the last week confined to a bed, watched over by a dozen unfamiliar women. Though the gash on her head is still tender and enjoys opening at the most inopportune moments, she is quite sick of feeling and being treated like an invalid. She is perfectly capable of taking a walk by herself, thank you very much.

The healers are ever vigilant, however, and it will not be long before she is missed. She sighs, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and looking up, patches of bright blue sky visible through its leaves.

Something soft brushes against her leg and she startles, quickly sitting upright and looking down.

She immediately relaxes. Sitting at her feet is the same black cat as before, big green eyes turned upwards towards her. She smiles.

“Hello, little Leo.” She says, the name in reference to the feline’s impressive mane. He meows at her and she offers him her fingers, which he sniffs. As she scratches him behind the ear he purrs, making her smile widen.

Suddenly, he turns his head towards the castle and she follows his gaze, noticing several figures running around.

As though searching for something.

“Shit.” She breathes, standing and glancing around, wondering where, exactly, she can hide. She hates being confined to her bed, recent injury or no.

The cat meows and she turns to see that he is several yards down the path beyond the tree, looking back at her expectantly.

Glancing back towards the castle, she turns and follows him.

* * *

Thor is not expecting to find anyone in the families private gardens, let alone Frigga’s grotto.

As he gets closer, however, he recognizes the short blonde hair of Aurora. It brings him up short, for though he is on his way to mending his bridges with Jane, he has had little time to speak to or spend with their daughter.

He thinks, briefly, of slipping away undetected. She is sitting on the grass with her back to him, observing the fountain at the center of the hidden garden. Dappled sunlight falls across her little spot, no doubt warming the grass and probably why she picked it. She’s wearing a tunic and trousers, both in dark blue, but her feet are bare. He frowns, something niggling at the back of his mind. Decided, he steps forward.

“Shouldn’t you still be in the healer’s ward?” He asks. He expects her to jump in surprise, but she simply readjusts so she can look back at him, laid out leisurely in her spot with sleepy, half lidded eyes.

“I’d prefer not to be smothered, thanks. That whole place is much too stuffy.” She says, and he understands the sentiment, truly he does. But he can also see, as he draws closer, the edge of the large gash on her forehead, partially hidden by the sweep of her bangs. He remembers the healers saying something about repairing the internal damage, and leaving the external to heal naturally.

“Be that as it may, you should at least have someone with you.” He says. She rolls her eyes.

“I did.” She says, waving a hand through the air dismissively. He blinks, looking around, thinking he’s missed something.

“But not anymore, I don’t.” She grins up at him, cheeky. He snorts and kneels beside her.

“I will escort you back.” He says, extending a hand.

A hand which she does not take.

Instead, she’s looking at him closely, grey-blue eyes sharp and piercing as they stare at him.

“I don’t know,” She says, slowly, still watching him.

“I don’t think you’ve groveled to Mom nearly enough.” Thor draws back a little, suddenly unsure.

“I don’t…”

“I know exactly who you are. How could I not, when I’ve been told stories about you my whole life? But you don’t seem to understand just what you’ve done.” She said, and there is an edge to her voice that makes him think of a knife, poised at his throat.

“I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard my mother cry over you.” She continues in a soft hiss, and he flinches back from her as though she’d taken Mjolnir and struck him.

She let’s out a sigh.

“But I get that you’re trying to make amends.” She straightens, sitting up and tucking her legs underneath her until she’s sitting cross-legged on the grass.

“Just know that it’ll probably take a while for me to, you know, warm up to you. The very idea of having a Dad is kinda weird, to be honest.” She says, suddenly sounding weary. Thor, who is still kneeling, takes a moment to really observe her, to take in the dark circles under her eyes and the laugh lines around her mouth. He nods slowly, understanding.

“Anything I can do, my lady, to make it easier?” He asks gently. She casts him a quick glance, having dropped her eyes to her hands, before letting a slow, tired smile spread across her face.

“Treat my Mom well, okay?”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching The Hollow Crown, so if I slip into writing in weird cadences or the speech gets funky, then I blame Shakespeare and Tom Hiddleston.


	6. Verse VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consider your lies  
> In light of what's real.
> 
> \- Elizaveta, Meant

Frigga has been watching her eldest son give his daughter a tour of the palace for over two hours now. She would have thought it a little excessive, given how little time he and Lady Jane had spent looking over the grounds, but Aurora seems genuinely interested in the stories he’s telling. Also, her parents were more interested in other topics during their little stroll.

Currently, Aurora is listening raptly as Thor tells of how Odin’s Father’s Father had built the Eastern wings of the castle for his beloved wife, erecting a glittering pyramid of gold in the very center of them to honor her. She occasionally breaks in with a question, but otherwise seems content to let Thor speak.

It is all too soon, however, when Frigga notices the halls around them becoming familiar. She smiles, turning away from the scrying bowl and towards the doors of her rooms. A moment later and there is a knock, one she answers without preamble.

“Mother,” Thor grins widely, bending slightly to kiss her cheek. She smiles in return, before her gaze rests on Aurora, who looks suddenly nervous.

“Aurora, this is my Mother, Lady Frigga.” Said Thor, positively beaming at the younger woman.

“We’ve met, I think.” She said, extending her hand. Frigga’s smile doesn’t waver as she takes it in her own for a firm shake. The girl’s hands are elegant, long-fingered, and ink-stained. Interesting.

“Please, dear, call me Grandmother. And whatever do you mean?” She asks. The other woman flushes slightly, dropping her gaze.

“When, um, I was with the healers. It was kinda fuzzy for a while, but I think I remember you. You visited with Mom.” She said. Frigga nodded.

“That I did. Has Thor been showing you around the castle?” She asks. Aurora nods, some of her nervousness seeming to dissipate with the change of topic.

They wander together, the three of them, until they reach the library.

They are barely two steps in the door when Aurora completely stops. And stares. And stares some more.

“Oh.” She says softly, before letting go of Thor’s arm and meandering off into the nearest aisle, running reverent fingers across the spines of the leather bound books. She pulls one at random and opens it, tracing her fingertips across unfamiliar, gilded letters.

“This is amazing.” She says breathlessly, turning back to them, face alight and eyes sparkling.

Frigga feels her heart clench and seize, as a long distant memory overlaps this one, Aurora’s delighted face replaced by another, younger, boyish.

_“Mother, look.”_

“Mother?” She blinks back to the present, to see Aurora and Thor both turned to her, the latter in curiosity, the former in barely contained excitement.

“Can you teach me how to read this?” Aurora asks, clutching the book in her hands, eyes still alight, and Frigga smiles.

“Of course, dear.”

* * *

“You seem to be in good spirits today.” His mother says. He doesn’t look up from his work table, where he’s putting the finishing touches on a little metal bird, its jeweled wings powered by cog and spring. The last piece in place, he taps its tail, watching its insides come to life with a quiet whirr. Its tiny wings flutter, eyes blinking as it fluffs itself.

When he finally looks up, Frigga is standing before his desk, a radiant smile on her face as she observes his little creation.

“Remarkable.” She says. He doesn’t answer, simply cupping the delicate metal creature in his palms before standing, moving to deposit the bird on his bookshelf. It hops about lightly before settling on top of a book end, diamond eyes sparkling.

“Good afternoon, Mother.” Loki says, turning to her. She smiles and hugs him, kissing his cheek. He returns the embrace minimally, eyes cast absently towards the window. When his mother doesn’t move towards the little table in the corner, as is custom, he returns his gaze to her, mildly curious.

“Are we not taking lunch here?” He asks. Her smile widens.

“I thought you could accompany me and meet my newest student.” She says. His eyebrows tick up, curiosity peaked.

“They must be extraordinary, for you have not taken a student in over 300 years.” He says mildly, though his mind is buzzing. Frigga nods, taking the arm he offers her. They leave his chambers at a leisurely stroll, meandering towards the gardens.

“A most voracious, curious creature, indeed.” Says Frigga, a knowing glint in her eye. He lifts an eyebrow.

“You are keeping something from me. That is unlike you.” He says. She laughs lightly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“You need not be jealous, Loki. Perhaps you might even assist me in my teachings.” She said, and he cannot help but roll his eyes, though his bitterness is light, tempered by time.

“Unless they are interested in inventing, then I have nothing to offer.” It is his mother’s turn to roll her eyes, swatting his shoulder.

“Nonsense, you and I both know that theory is three-fourths of the process.” She pauses to stop a passing servant, leaning close to ask a question in hushed tones. Loki turns his eyes to the window again, catching a quick glimpse of the afternoon sun before he is drawn back by the servant’s exit. When he turns back to her, his mother has a confused frown on her face.

“Something wrong?” He asks, gently squeezing her hand. She shakes her head.

“Something curious. Come, we are going to the kitchens.”


	7. Verse VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the dark no one knows who you are
> 
> \- Darlia, Stars Are Aligned

Rory is stress baking.

It had taken her a solid hour of wandering to actually find the kitchens, and another thirty minutes of arguing with the head cook to get the portly older woman to concede her any kitchen space.

Now she’s squirreled herself into a corner, out of the way of the other cooks, elbow deep in flour.

She casts a quick glance to the little bronze timer on top of the stove, indicating how much more time her sweet rolls need to bake. She already has scones out on a rack to cool and a loaf of bread rising under a towel on the corner of her table. She wonders if her head will clear enough for her to stop soon.

She sighs, looking down into the bowl from which she’s plucking chunks of cookie dough and depositing them onto a waiting baking sheet.

It’s not that she’s really upset about anything, just a little overwhelmed.

In the six days since Lady Frigga…no, her Grandmother, offered to tutor her, she’s learned so much. Their alphabet, runes, aren’t as difficult to learn as she’d thought, especially after she’d started making cheat-sheets. She leaves every lesson with sheafs of parchment filled with lines of her cramped chicken scratch handwriting because she’s determined to take in every scrap of information she possibly can. There’s just so much to learn and she feels an itch under her skin, an eagerness and impatience she’s only felt a few times before. It makes it difficult to sleep when all she wants is to stay in the library, wistfully daydreaming of simply melting into the shelves and becoming one with their occupants.

She knows that a fuzzy head will not help her absorb material, however, and baking has always helped her clear her thoughts, so, well, that’s why she’s here.

“What in Ygdrassil’s name are you doing?” She jumps nearly a foot in the air, whirling to see Frig…her Grandmother, who is watching her with open curiosity. She’s on the arm of a tall, dark haired man who’s watching her with a similar expression, though the intensity of his green eyes makes her stand up a little straighter.

“Uh, I bake when I’m stressed.” She says by way of explanation, hands flailing before she notices that they’re covered in flour and butter and who knows what else and lowers them self-consciously. Just then, the timer dings and she starts, turning away from the two Aesir and grabbing a thick towel.

Her cinnamon rolls are perfectly browned as she pulls them from the oven and sets them on the stove-top. Ignoring her sudden guests, she shuffles bowls around until she finds the one she made the glaze in. She spreads it absentmindedly, brain still going a mile a minute.

“Aurora?” She look up to find her Grandmother very close, a gentle hand on her arm. She deflates a little, setting aside the empty bowl and dirty spatula.

“Sorry, it’s just been really loud, so I needed something to do to clear my head.” She gestures around her. “Baking helps.”

Her Grandmother, however, is frowning.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She admonishes, gently squeezing Rory’s upper arms. She just blinks at her, not understanding, but the queen shakes her head and continues.

“If you don’t like your rooms we can move you, you don’t have to stay there. We…”

“Oh, no no no.” Rory waves her hands a little, comprehension dawning. “It’s not that, when I said it was too loud, I meant up here.” She gestures to her head, hoping the other woman will get her meaning.

Frigga blinks, before an indulgent smile spreads slowly across her face.

“Ah, I think I understand.” She says, turning to the man she came in with.

“Aurora, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Loki, my youngest son. Loki, this is Aurora.” She says.

Rory turns to face him, feeling her face flush. It’s a little embarrassing, because in all honesty the man standing in front of her is one of the most handsome she’s ever seen, resplendent in black and green silk. In contrast she’s wearing a borrowed, rough wool tunic over the torn jeans she arrived in, and most of her is covered in flour. She fumbles for the towel, trying to wipe her hands as best she can, tentatively offering one to him.

For one heart stopping moment, she thinks he’s not going to take it, but then his fingers brush hers. Instead of a handshake, however, he lifts her hand to his lips as he bows, never breaking eye contact.

“A pleasure, my lady.” He says, and sweet merciful Christ, even his voice is beautiful.

“Same.” She manages. 

* * *

Loki doesn’t know quite what to make of this strange creature. All he is certain of is that she is absolutely stunning.

He has seen the court ladies, has had them fawn over him and chase him for his attentions. He knows their painted, perfumed faces and fake smiles. Their whispered, honeyed words full of hope of snagging a prince, of getting him to notice them. Each of them deems themselves the loveliest of flowers amongst a garden in full bloom.

This woman-child is none of those things.

She’s dressed simply, in clothes appropriate for the activity she’s chosen, though he can easily imagine her in the flowing robes of nobility. Her dark golden hair is cut short, barely brushing past her ears, the soft sweep of her bangs across her forehead making his fingers itch to touch.

The hand he holds in his own is ink stained, long fingered and seemingly delicate. However, before his mother had interrupted her, he’d watched those same hands work steadily and assuredly with a deftness born of purpose and skill.

Most captivating, perhaps, are those guileless storm-eyes.

He comes back to himself to find both women staring at him, his mother with surprise, the other in curiosity. He thinks he’s been asked a question.

He smiles softly.

“I’m sorry, I lost myself. What was that?” He says. The girl, Aurora, returns his smile tentatively.

“Do you want a cinnamon roll?” She asks again. He glances behind her to the stove, where the pan she’d been working with before is still sitting, its contents steaming slightly. They smell good.

“Those?” He asks, inclining his head. She nods, an eager smile replacing the shy one from before. It lights up her face. _Oh_.

“Of course.”

* * *

“Loki.” He knows that tone of voice, reprimanding, but ignores it in favor of making sure that they are behind closed doors before turning to his mother. She’s looking at him reproachfully, worry creasing her brow.

“This is not a woman you can court, Loki. She’s…”

“I know who she is, Mother.” He interrupts her softly. Very little in this palace escapes him, even without his magic. There have been rumors galore since Sif and Volstagg went to Midgard to collect Thor’s lady love only to return with not one mortal, but two.

He had never met Jane Foster face-to-face, but he has heard enough over the years to know that she would never be unfaithful, no matter how much time has passed. If she has had a child, there is no doubt in his mind that it is of Thor’s blood.

Despite that knowledge, he was not expecting Aurora Foster. She may not carry herself with the arrogance brought on by a lifetime of being nobility, but there is a definite grace about her, a fluidness of movement that reminds him very much of Midgard’s large predatory cats. He imagines she would be breathtaking on the battlefield.

He can _feel_ his mother’s disapproval.

“Then you know why the two of you can never be anything but friends.” She says, and there is harsh steel in her voice. Oh, she likes Aurora, does she?

“Of course, Mother.”


	8. Verse VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh if there's one thing to be taught  
> It's dreams are made to be caught  
> And friends can never be bought
> 
> \- Gavin DeGraw, Fire

Loki wanders the palace library.

In truth, he’s just browsing. His own library, kept safely in his study, consists of tomes he’s painstakingly collected over his lifetime, not to mention his own journals and grimoire. That isn’t to say he doesn’t enjoy wandering amongst the bookshelves. Something about it is strangely calming.

That is, of course, if he puts extra effort into ignoring the four guards that shadow him wherever he goes.

He snorts derisively, snapping the book in his hands shut before putting it back on its shelf. Walking down the aisle he turns the corner, irritated by the shuffle of armor and weapons behind him.

It’s what’s in front of him that makes him stop short, however.

One of the ornate library tables has been shoved over under a window and is heaped high with books. He steps closer and can hear incoherent muttering coming from behind the pile.

Stepping around the table, he is met by the sight of Aurora, hunched over a huge, leather bound tome as she scribbles madly in a notebook. She looks up as his shadow falls across the open pages and he is alarmed to see the dark circles under her eyes.

“Loki?”

“Are you alright?” He asks in lieu of answering. She stares up at him for a moment before putting down the quill she’s using and furiously rubbing at her eyes.

“What time is it?” She asks.

“It’s been an hour since lunch.” He replies. He casts a quick glance across her notes. It appears to be a rough translation of the tome beneath it. His eyes narrow. Very rough.

“Damn, and I said I’d meet Mom for lunch, too. Shit.” Rory is scrubbing at her face with a hand, squinting across the table at the texts she’s accumulated, eyes unfocused. Loki frowns at her.

“Aurora, when did you last sleep?” She blinks up at him, seeming to think about his question.

“Depends. What day is it?” She asks. His scowl deepens.

“I saw you in the kitchens two days ago.”

“Uh,” She trails off, cheeks turning pink. He lets out a put upon sigh before offering his hand.

“You need some sleep. Let me escort you back to your chambers.” She stares at his offering for a moment before shuffling together her notebooks, tucking them securely under her arm, and taking his outstretched hand.

Previously occupied as he was and hunched over as she was, it is only as she stands that he becomes fully aware of the clothes she’s wearing. His earlier assumptions about how she would look in the garb of a noble are proved correct.

She’s been dressed in layers of blue silk by someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. He can see folds at her wrists that suggest robin's egg against her skin moving to the navy of her high-collared overcoat, so dark it is almost black. Everything has been richly embroidered in silver, reminding him of stars and constellations as the patterns move around her torso and down her arms. The hem of the coat brushes just below her knees, her feet laced into sturdy leather boots into which are tucked soft, brown lambs-wool trousers.

He smiles, taking in all of her in a single approving glance, before he tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and leads her from the library.

They’ve only been walking for a few minutes when he becomes aware of her staring at him from the corner of her eye.

“Do you have a question for me?” He inquires. She flushes, eyes snapping forward. He watches the blush tint the tips of her ears in amusement.

“Well, yes, yes I do.” She says after a moment. He turns expectant eyes on her, waiting patiently. She purses her lips at him, seeming to gather her courage.

“What do I call you?” She finally asks. He blinks in surprise.

“My name?”

“I know that.” She says, exasperated. One of his eyebrows rises in expectation, silently urging her to go on.

“What I mean is, do I call you Uncle?” She questions tentatively. He stops fully at that, pulling her up short and staring at her in horror.

“Please do not.” He says, sounding pained even to his own ears.

“But you’re Thor’s brother, right?”

“Not by blood.”

“Really?” He turns an exasperated look on her. Despite her apparent exhaustion, her eyes are curios.

“They really didn’t tell you anything about me, did they?” He asks dryly.

“Not really.” She said. “Uncle Selvig wasn’t too keen on the subject when I asked, so everything I know about you is from Earth books of Norse mythology. And we all know how accurate those are.”

“Ah, yes, I imagine Doctor Selvig _would_ be rather reluctant to speak of me. The last time we met didn’t exactly end pleasantly.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“Another time." He says, lifting her hand to his lips in a gentle bow.

"First, you must get some sleep.” 

* * *

After lunch the next day, Loki returns to the library.

Aurora is back at her table, scribbling away. He walks up behind her quietly and looks over her shoulder.

“You mistranslated line seventeen.” He says mildly. She only jumps a little, turning to cast him a withering glare over her shoulder. Her face glows with a good night’s sleep, eyes clear and bright. She’s dressed in blue again, today.

“Which part?” She asks after a moment. He smiles, before nodding at the empty chair beside her.

“May I sit?” He asks.

“You may.” She replies.

They talk for hours, well after the bell has rung for dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, I will be basing Rory's clothes off of Loki's prison garb from Thor: The Dark World, and from these coats:
> 
> http://www.gelarehdesigns.com/new-products/
> 
> Particularly this one:
> 
> http://www.gelarehdesigns.com/new-products/avant-long-coat
> 
> And maybe these two:
> 
> http://www.gelarehdesigns.com/new-products/torza-coat
> 
> And
> 
> http://www.gelarehdesigns.com/new-products/laced-stihl-jacket


	9. Verse IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh you're everything I'm wanting  
> Come to think of it, I'm aching  
> On account of my transgression..  
> Will you welcome this confession?
> 
> \- Acceptance, So Contagious

Loki learns very early on that the Lady Aurora, Rory to her friends and family, does not like to be touched.

She is very reserved, especially in the presence of strangers. She always stands apart from those she speaks to, hands clasped together, back ramrod straight and face neutrally disinterested. She seems exceedingly uncomfortable with others entering her personal space, something he has observed with Thor and Fandral several times. She draws back into herself, eyes shuttering and mouth turning down at the corners. She tenses at the very presence of other people, muscles locking to hold her upright. In all honesty, the first time he observed her interacting with a stranger he thought he was looking at a completely different person.

Because she is always touching him. A hand in the crook of his elbow as they walk the gardens, a condescending pat on the cheek in the middle of an argument, bumping his hip with hers playfully, turning a page of the book he’s holding, tapping him on the arm so that he can hand her a new quill, or leaning against his side while he reads aloud.

She is soft with him.

She is currently glaring at him over the top of her book.

“Are you telling me that I’ve spent three weeks struggling to translate these texts, and there’s been a spell that could do it for me this whole time?” She says, sounding exceedingly annoyed.

He tilts his head and makes a noncommittal noise, not looking up from his page.

She growls at him.

“There is such a spell.” He admits, closing his own book and meeting her eyes. One eyebrow lifts, a silent command to continue. He smiles.

“There are few who could perform such complex magic, however.” The other eyebrow ticks up.

“The stories always describe you as one of Asgard’s greatest mages. Where they wrong?” She asks. He tries not to flinch, but the look on her face tells him he failed. She puts her book aside and stands, moving to stand before him. He sighs as he feels her hands cup his cheeks.

“Loki?” He meets her eyes with some difficulty.

“One of the stipulations of my house arrest was the sealing of my magic.” He said, hands flexing at his sides. Rory makes a sympathetic noise.

He lets out another sigh, reaching up to take her hands in his. She squeezes his fingers in what he can only imagine is a supportive gesture.

“Mother should be able to help you, though.” He says after a moment. She frowns.

“Why didn’t she before?” She asks. He chuckled.

“I imagine that she wanted to spend some time with you. You are, after all, her only grandchild.” He said. She tilted her head, seeming to consider this.

“Well, I can’t truly fault her for not saying anything, can I?” She asks, though her frustration bleeds through into her voice. He snorts.

“You could, or you could simply ask for the gift of the All-speak. I doubt she would deny you anything. In fact, I don’t think her capable of such a thing.” He says. She rolls her eyes before tugging him back to their table.

“Don’t worry, I will. But, for now, you could read to me?” She asks, holding out a thick tome, looking hopeful.

This time, his laugh is light and infectious. 

* * *

Jane doesn’t look up when Rory sits down.

“Good morning, Mum.” Comes the other’s sleepy greeting. Jane glances at her over the rim of her tea-cup, taking in ruffled hair and heavy lidded eyes. The happy smile that lights her face is new.

Jane feels herself sigh.

Rory has always been awkward and slow to fit in, and if Jane said she hadn’t been worried when they’d been unexpectedly relocated to Asgard, then she’d be a liar.

She tells herself that it's only natural for her to be conflicted.

On the one hand, Rory is transitioning wonderfully. She’s voracious in her appetite for knowledge, like always, spending hours on end in the library. She’s chatty, which is unusual, and seems to be comfortable in her new surrounding, which is almost unheard of. Jane would be infinitely happier if the person responsible for her daughter's good humor was anyone but Loki.

“You okay?” Jane meets worried gray-blue eyes across the table. Rory is holding a pastry with one hand and stirring cream and sugar into her tea with the other, waiting for an answer.

“I’m fine.” Says Jane. Rory nods. They fall into comfortable silence while they eat.

As Rory stands to leave, however, Jane reaches out and puts a hand on her arm, stopping her mid-motion.

“Are you happy?” Jane asks. She’s met with a slow blink, before a smile spreads across Rory's face.

"Yup." She grins. Jane smiles back at her, waving her away.

"Alright then, get out of here." She says. Rory pauses halfway to the door, squinting at her over her shoulder, before her smile turns blinding.

"He's not so bad, you know?" She says, before she trots out the door.

Jane watches her go, hoping she's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, I had my wisdom teeth removed this week and have been recovering. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	10. Verse X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're a thousand miles from comfort, we have traveled land and sea  
> But as long as you are with me, there's no place I'd rather be
> 
> \- Clean Bandit ft. Jess Glynne, Rather Be

“So, tell me, what is it you do for fun?” Rory asks. It’s been a whirlwind four weeks since she arrived in Asgard and it’s been twelve days since Loki found her in the library after her study binge. He’d tracked her down the next day and they’d been nearly inseparable ever since. Now they’re taking a break from her studies to stroll through the gardens, talking quietly and pointedly ignoring his guards.

“Fun?” He muses. She nods.

“Yes, fun. You know, entertainment. Mischief and mayhem and all that jazz.” She says, making a sweeping motion with the hand not tucked into the crook of his arm. He places a hand over his chest, looking scandalized.

“My lady, I would never.” He says in mock innocence, a huge grin splitting his face. Rory punches him playfully in the shoulder.

“For the God of Mischief, you’re a terrible liar.” She says and he laughs, the sound bright and warm. It makes her heart ache.

“Why do you ask?” He inquires after he has calmed some.

“I was thinking of playing some pranks on the Warriors Three.” She said casually. He stops sharply, eyes narrowing on her.

“Anything in particular you had in mind?” He asks after a long pause.

“Well, I know Volstagg will be easy. Sabotage some foodstuffs and voila, instant entertainment.”

“Go on.” He encouraged. She rolls her eyes.

"I have some vague ideas for Fandral, mainly revolving around one of his many conquests, but I’m frankly quite stumped on Hogun.” She mused.

“And the Lady Sif?” He asks tentatively.

“Not touching that with a twelve-foot pole. I don't want to die.” She says with an edge of finality in her voice. He snorted a laugh.

“Anyway, I thought you might be able to help me?” She continues.

“Your partner in crime?” He asks.

“Exactly.” She says.

They fall silent as he mulls over her offer. They continue to walk, their meandering taking them back towards the castle. She hums softly to herself, a light, airy tune she learned in school, letting her thoughts wander.

In truth, if it were anyone else, the long silences between them would be awkward. Loki is the first person she’s met with whom she can just sit and be. His quick wit and sharp mind make him an excellent conversationalist, but he’ll also leave her alone when she gets lost in a book or amidst her own thoughts.

Even her mother had, begrudgingly, admitted that he was good for her, if perhaps in not so many words.

She smiles to herself as they pass under an arch and into the labyrinth of the castle’s corridors. They are soon interrupted, however, by none other than the Warriors Three, Sif, and Thor.

Rory, who’s tucked both her hands into Loki’s elbow while they walked, telling herself all the while that it’s to warm them, feels herself tense as they draw nearer, fingers curling tight against leather and lambs-wool.

She likes Thor’s friends just fine, but that doesn’t stop them from being intimidating as hell and very hard to relate to. It doesn’t help that she’s spent almost no time with any of them. Volstagg is kind enough to her, though more apt to stuff food in his mouth than talk. She’s never actually heard Hogun speak, and the very air about Sif is so prickly Rory feels like she could cut herself if she’s not careful.

And Fandral just makes her uncomfortable.

“My Lady Aurora, as lovely as ever.” Before meeting the Warrior’s Three, Rory had never in her life seen a person prance, but this man has the act down to a science.

“Hello, Mr. Fandral.” She says, and knows that the smile she gives him is strained. He seems not to notice.

“My lady, please, no need for formalities.” He says jovially.

“Oh, I believe there are.” The quiet voice makes her start, turning her eyes to Loki. His expression, though calm, seems cold, eyes flinty as he stares down the blonde man before them.

Fandral pulls himself up, though he has no hope of matching Loki’s height.

“I didn’t ask you.” He snaps.

Loki snorts.

“Be that as it may, Fandral, you address a Princess. Show the proper respect.” His voice has a hard edge to it, one that reminds Rory quite vividly of jagged shards of ice.

There is a long, tense standoff between the two men where the whole group seems to be holding its breath.

Rory, now equal parts annoyed and relieved, extricates one hand from Loki’s arm to wave Fandral away.

“It _would_ make me a little more comfortable if you weren’t so informal, Mr. Fandral.” She says. The man’s mouth drops open, but before he can speak she turns away.

“You were going to start teaching me magic theory today, right?” She asks Loki, who is watching her with sharp eyes. When he smiles, though, she is relieved to find warmth there.

“Yes, I believe so. If you’ll excuse us, Brother.” He nods to Thor as he leads her from the hall and back towards the library. 

* * *

“He’s too close to her.” Says Sif. Thor scoffs.

“He is my brother, it is natural that he would be friends with my daughter.” He says. Sif shakes her head.

“You may not be able to see it, old friend, but I can. With every day that passes they grow closer.” Thor frowns.

“My brother knows better, Sif.” He said.

Sif, exasperated, throws up her hands.

“Be careful, Thor, or else your daughter will become your sister-in-law.” She warns him.

Thor casts his gaze towards where Loki and Aurora disappeared, his expression becoming more and more foreboding.

“Perhaps I should speak with Father.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day, woohoo.


	11. Verse XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathing in lightning  
> Tonight's for fighting
> 
> \- Eve 6, Think Twice

Someone is banging frantically at Loki’s door.

He looks up from his work table, catching a glimpse of the clock on his desk across the room. It’s been some hours since dinner and most everyone should be in bed. He frowns, wondering who, exactly, seems so determined to break his door down at this hour of night.

Setting aside his tools he stands, exiting his study and walking across the foyer of his chambers to answer the incessant banging.

Rory is standing on the other side, one fist still raised.

Loki, surprised, has just opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, she’s doing outside his chambers at this hour, when she leans forward and face-plants into his chest. He freezes, uncertain, but all of his questions die on his lips when he becomes aware that her breathing is ragged and shallow, as if she’s having trouble drawing air. She’s trembling, too, sending shivers through his much taller frame.

“Rory?” His voice is soft, comforting as he wraps her gently in his arms. Her own hands come up to curl tightly in his shirt and a noise like a sob leaves her throat. He shushes her, drawing her closer so that he can shut the door to his chambers and lead her inside, back to his study.

He seats himself on an ornate chaise lounge with her close beside him and gently rubs her back, making soothing noises under his breath until her breathing has become somewhat normal.

When she finally draws away from him he can see her face is white and her eyes are bloodshot, but she speaks before he can.

“I’m sorry.” She says. One of his eyebrows ticks up.

“What for?” He asks. She makes a flailing gesture with her hands.

“This. I’m not usually this…emotional.” She frowns. “It’s just been a very, very long day.”

“Want to tell me about it?” He asks gently. She shakes her head.

“I don’t even know what happened, exactly. Just that it was incredibly uncomfortable.” She runs her fingers absentmindedly through her short hair, a nervous gesture he’s noticed in their time together. The fact that she’s doing it now means that she’s more stressed than he first thought.

“So start at the beginning.” He says easily. Her frown lessens some and she nods, before taking a deep breath.

“It started last week, after we ran into Thor and the others. Grandmother started asking me all these really intimate questions over lunch the day after.”

“Intimate?” He interrupts, somewhat surprised by the spark of protectiveness that flares to life in his belly. She shrugs, and he doesn’t like the look of helplessness on her face.

“Yeah, like if I’d ever been in a serious relationship before, what my preferences for a partner where, stuff like that.” She shrugs again. “I just told her I don’t have any and that I’ve never dated. I never had time, what with school and everything. She seemed weirdly pleased when I said that.”

He nods, keeping silent while she seems to organize her thoughts.

“Then, yesterday, she said something about lunch today being ‘special’. I didn’t think anything of it until…” She trails off, staring off into space for a moment before her eyes move to his.

“First of all, we had lunch in one of the dining rooms, which was strange because we’ve always had lunch in the garden. When I got there, there were six guys I’d never met before, all sitting around the table. I was confused because they hadn’t left a seat open next to Grandmother for me.”

“How were they configured?” He asks gently.

“Grandmother was at one end of the table and I was at the other.”

“And they were spread out between you?” He asks, a sinking feeling starting in his chest. She nods.

“The meal was all wrong, too. I’m happy with simple stuff but there had to be at least six courses and there was way more silverware than usual.” She trails off, frowning at her hands.

“What did they talk about?” He asks. At this, she rolls her eyes.

“Where do I even begin?” She snarls, and he is relieved to see some of her fire returning.

“All they talked about the whole meal was how each of them was the best in battle, how many fights each of them had won, how much money and influence each of them had, who’s son they were. I mean,” She stands abruptly and starts to pace in front of him. “I didn’t even get to say anything, Loki. They literally tripped over themselves in order to talk over me. I had to sit through the entire meal like that. Do you have any idea how frustrating that was?”

He watches her pace for a few more moments before reaching out and taking her hand, guiding her back to her seat beside him.

“What else?” He asks. She huffs and waves a hand.

“Well, the meal was winding down, right. I just stayed in my seat while they all got up and were getting ready to go, because I felt that I would run the moment I got out of my chair. Then one of them comes over,” She pauses, all her anger fading in an instant, replaced by helpless confusion as she seems to curl in on herself, shoulders visibly wilting.

“And he takes my hand and kisses it, without even asking, and he’s just holding my hand while he says, really loudly, how he can’t wait because our children are going to be beautiful and how excited he is about the whole thing.” She trails off, staring off into space, missing Loki’s fists clenching on his knees.

“And then I slapped him across the face and left.” She finishes, almost as an afterthought.

A long pause stretches between them before she turns and leans over to rest her cheek on his shoulder.

“What’s going on, Loki?” She whispers, and he wants to find whomever this insignificant boy was and kill him, because the tremor in Rory’s voice makes his teeth clench in anger.

“I believe my Mother is trying to find a match for you.” He says quietly, once his anger has dissipated some. She looks up at him from his shoulder, eyebrows scrunching up.

“A match?” She asks, confused. He nods.

“For marriage.”

The look on her face turns to one of pure, unadulterated horror.

“No.” She whispers, drawing away in a flinch that makes his heart ache. He lifts a hand to stem the tide. She falls quiet, but he can see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Rory.” He says, taking her hands in his. She nods slowly, still looking stunned.

“I had my suspicions about this, ever since Odin announced the ball next month. Now I’m sure they mean to use it to try and make a match for you.” He says. She nods again.

“Just remember that you will have the last say, no matter what happens. It doesn’t matter who they are, these boys will always lack one vital thing.” He continues. Her eyes narrow as understanding sparks in their stormy depths. When he falls silent, she speaks.

“Odin’s blood.”

Clever girl.

“Yes. No matter what happens, you will always be the most important component of a match because you carry the Allfather’s familial lineage. Make enough fuss and Mother and Odin will have no choice but to move on.”

“But how do I do that?” She asks. “Loki, I don’t want to go through another day like today.” He squeezes her hands gently.

“What happened after lunch?” He asks. She shrugs.

“I went back to my room. Grandmother tried to talk to me, but I refused to see her. When she tried coming in anyway, I escaped through the window and went to the library. I’ve been moving around the castle all day, thinking and trying to avoid everyone.”

He nods.

“You can try to avoid another lunch incident, but I think them inevitable, unfortunately. You can refuse to go, but eventually Mother or Odin will find a way to make you attend them. Make a loud enough protest, though, and I think you can buy some time. However, you _will_ have to attend the ball next month.” She opens her mouth to protest but falls silent when he shakes his head.

“It is there that you will have to make your intentions clear.” He says.

She blinks, fingers tightening around his for a moment.

“Will you help me?” Her question is almost breathless. He nods.

“Of course.”

* * *

“Grandmother,” Frigga meets Aurora’s gaze across the table and feels her gut churn. There are dark bags under her Granddaughter’s eyes and stress lines around her mouth. No doubt a testament to her new situation and the lunch incident from a few days previous, which is still disturbingly fresh in the Queen’s mind.

“Next month’s ball,” Aurora trails off, biting her lip briefly before lifting her eyes, defiance burning in their blue-gray depths.

“It’s not just to announce me as Thor’s heir, is it?” She asks. Frigga sighs and sets her goblet aside, turning her full attention to the other woman.

“No, my dear, it isn’t.”

“Loki says Odin means to marry me off.” Aurora continues and Frigga tries not to flinch, both at her Granddaughter’s bluntness and the thought of what words, exactly, her youngest son had to say on the subject. No doubt they were very unflattering.

“That’s right.” She says instead.

Aurora’s face is thoughtful, before she nods slowly, effectively ending the conversation. They don’t say anything else throughout lunch. It’s only when Aurora is standing to leave that she speaks again.

“We won’t play by his rules. Tell him that, won’t you?” She says, before turning and walking away.

Frigga watches her go, a soft smile playing across her face.

No, she never believed that any child of Thor’s would ever allow themselves to be used as a pawn. Aurora’s is a nature wilder than the plains of Vanaheim, with wit and intelligence to match any scholar of Asgard. And with the God of Mischief and Father of Lies as her tutor in subterfuge, the Queen has no doubt that Odin will find himself easily outmatched when it comes to their grandchild, Allfather or not.

Frigga laughs softly to herself.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to seeing how events would play out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rory has taken most of Asgard's customs and culture with a heavy grain of salt. But the moment someone (Odin) tries to take away her personal agency, watch out!
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


	12. Verse XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call it magic  
> Call it true  
> I call it magic  
> When I'm with you
> 
> \- Coldplay, Magic

Rory hates this.

Her Grandmother is casting her none-too-subtle looks, but she ignores her, instead fluffing out the frankly idiotic skirts Frigga’s ladies-in-waiting had dressed her in today. She makes sure they spread across the stone bench completely so that there is no room for anyone else to sit but her.

She’s no fool. She knows that, as someone born to a Midgardian mother, it doesn’t matter who her father is, she will be physically weaker than these men until she consumes an apple of Idunn. Because of that, she has to rely on her wit and intelligence to fight against Odin’s plans.

Because it has become painfully obvious that the Allfather is the one behind all of this, pushing the marriage agenda. Frigga has voiced her objections on more than one occasion, in public, even, but has been rebuffed every time. She seems determined, now, to make the meetings as painless as possible for Rory, but this morning there was a very ominous set to her mouth that wasn’t there yesterday. Rory wonders just what kind of argument, exactly, went down to put her Grandmother in such a mood, but she doesn’t ask for specifics.

A number of her “suitors” are milling around the garden, standing close by and trying to draw her into conversation. She ignores them all, instead staring off into the middle-distance, determined to come off as cold and indifferent as possible. If she keeps it up long enough, they’re bound to lose interest.

Some of them, however, are proving to be more tenacious than others.

“Good afternoon, Lady Aurora.” She wonders if the slap she delivered to this brat the other day didn’t leave enough of a hint. Or, perhaps more accurately, Buir, if she remembers his name correctly, is proving all Asgardian’s to be obtuse by nature.

Whatever the reason, she ignores the man completely. In any other situation she would have thought him handsome, tall and broad shouldered and sun-kissed as he is. But she knows that he has ulterior motives, so his physical beauty is lost on her.

She nearly leaps out of her skin when he sweeps her skirts off the bench and sits down right beside her. Without so much as a by your leave.

She has to suppress the urge to bare her teeth at him as she shies away, scooting to the opposite end of the bench as she tries to put some distance between them. He seems completely unperturbed, instead turning what he must think is a winning grin on her. It only makes him appear more menacing.

“I understand, My Lady, that we perhaps got off on the wrong foot last we met.” Buir is saying, reaching for her hand. She pulls it away, tucking her arms on the opposite side of her body and truly wishing she could just disappear into thin air.

He’s frowning, watching her with something like annoyance starting to flit across his ruggedly handsome features, but Rory is trying to remember how to breathe. Buir’s presence seems cloistering, pressing in on her ominously. She closes her suddenly shaking hands into fists and wills her wildly beating heart to slow.

So preoccupied is she that she doesn’t notice him move. So she can’t help the surprised shriek she utters when he suddenly grabs her face in both of his hands, jerking her head around forcefully to look at him. She has barely any time to take in his irked blue eyes before something like a spark tingles under her skin and he is leaping from the bench with a cry of pain, shaking his hands as if he’s been burned.

Rory doesn’t even think, simply jumps from the bench and runs, full tilt, from the garden. She completely ignores Frigga’s calls after her, instead sprinting for the one place she feels safe in this entire blasted golden castle.

Loki is coming from the other direction when she reaches the doors to his chambers and she barely notices that he’s running too before she crashes headlong into his arms.

“Easy.” He shushes her, arms solid and warm around her as she shakes in his embrace.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.” She clings to him while he whispers soothing words in her ear, her head tucked protectively under his chin. They stay like that, clinging to each other for long minutes before he draws away, running gentle fingers down her cheeks. Unlike before, she does not feel threatened by the gesture.

When she meets his eyes she is confused to find him grinning widely.

“Does my misery make you happy?” She asks, a sting of hurt curling in her chest. The smile dims and he shakes his head, before leading her gently through his door with a hand on her back.

“No, I merely observed something today that changes everything.” He said. She blinks at him, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted.

“What is it?” She asks, sinking onto the chaise lounge that has become one of her favorite spots in his rooms, because it affords her the perfect view to watch him work on his little clockwork creations.

Moving to his bookshelf he takes one of these creatures, a little jeweled butterfly, and cups it in his hands. He returns to her side and smiles at her, before closing his hands around the insect and breathing gently into his palms. When he opens them again, the butterfly is no longer clockwork, but living flesh.

Rory stares in wonder as it flutters its wings and takes flight, heading for the open window.

She turns to Loki with awe on her face, his own expression one of elation.

“I thought you said your magic was sealed.” She says in almost a whisper. His smile is blinding.

“It is.” He assures her, before taking her hands in his. One he lifts so that he can ghost his lips across her knuckles. She can feel that spark again, warm, just underneath her skin.

“Except, it seems, when it comes to you.”

* * *

Jane, who has been wandering the palace library looking for the astronomy section, pulls up short as she catches two familiar voices floating through the stacks. Cautiously, she inches closer, until she’s in the next isle over and a gap in the shelves reveals the owners of the voices.

“What about this one?” Rory asks, holding out a thick tome, pages yellow with age. Loki leans over it, eyes flicking quickly over the passage she’s pointing to, before his brow furrows and he takes the book from her hands, eyes scanning the whole page.

He starts to laugh.

“What?” Rory asks, sounding slightly miffed to be left out of the joke. Loki shakes his head before setting the book down on the table they’re standing next to and tapping the page with a finger.

“It is just like Odin to include a clause like ‘unselfish use’ within the bindings of this thing.” He raises a hand towards his throat and though she can’t see her expression, the angry noise Rory makes gives Jane a perfect idea of what her daughter thinks about the subject of their discussion.

“I suspect he meant it as an irony, for he must have thought I possessed not a single unselfish bone in my body. A cruel inclusion, none the less.” Loki continues. Rory shakes her head.

“So, what, he meant to rub salt in the wound? To taunt you with the possibility of using your magic, but never being able to access it for yourself? If that was his plan, why didn’t he just announce it to you?” Loki shrugs in response, leaning back against the table.

“I imagine he thought I would figure it out for myself, but I never liked looking at this thing, so I never studied it too closely. I took the Allfather’s magic at face value and believed my own sealed beyond reach.” He laughed again. With a flick of the wrist he plucks a flower from thin air and reaches out to tuck it behind Rory’s ear. Jane can see how she leans into his hand as she hums softly.

“I still think it’s too cruel, especially for someone claiming to be a benevolent father-figure.” She says. Loki scoffed.

“Odin is quick to find fault in others, but never admits to his own.” He said. Rory nods.

“I noticed. I think he tolerates me only out of necessity.” She said.

“He has never had a high regard for mortals.” Loki said.

“I thought you said I wasn’t.” Rory says, sounding slightly surprised. Loki shrugs.

“Not mortal in the same sense as your mother. You’ll outlive her considerably, but you’re nowhere near the same as your father.”

“Or you.” She points out. He gives her a tight lipped smile.

“I am more unlike your father still.” He acknowledged.

“I know, Loki. And I’ve told you that I don’t care.” She said, and there is something in her voice that makes Jane hold her breath. She suddenly feels like she’s looking in on something very personal. Something incredibly intimate.

“And, curiously enough, I believe you.” He replied, voice soft, leaning down to rest his forehead against Rory’s. Jane pulls back, slipping quietly from the library.

For whatever reason, Loki has allied himself with Aurora. He has become her mentor, her friend, and, if Jane isn’t misinterpreting, is on his way to becoming her lover. He may not have said anything out loud, but she knows that he will protect her daughter, and that, combined with how happy he has made Aurora, is enough for Jane.

As she sets out towards Thor’s rooms, a frown settles over her features.

It was high time she and the crown prince had a little chat about this betrothal business.


	13. Verse XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunder only happens when it's raining  
> ...  
> Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions  
> I keep my visions to myself  
> It's only me
> 
> \- Fleetwood Mac, Dreams

She’s drowning.

Rory struggles, but her limbs feel like lead and her hands are useless as they claw at nothing. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. There is only the rush of water, liquid darkness pressing in all around, coldness stinging at her eyes, burning her nose as it seeps into her lungs. Her chest feels like it’s on fire, like her ribs are being constricted and forced outwards all at once.

She can’t get air.

She lashes out, desperate, but there is blackness creeping in at the edges of her vision, stealing her sight, tugging her towards something worse. She’s being dragged deeper.

She wakes screaming, clawing at the hands that hold her down, incoherent with her fear. She lunges against the restraint and pain flares in her shoulder, but she can’t feel it for the adrenaline in her system. Someone might be calling her name but she can’t make out the voice because she’s still trapped in the nightmare. She still can’t breathe, still can’t see.

More voices, panic and confusion in their tones, and then the hands vanish. She curls in on herself, gasping, lungs finally starting to work as she manages to draw a labored, rattling breath. She claws at the sheets, leaving rusty streaks behind from where she’d torn her hands fighting the person holding her. She huddles in the twisted mess of her bed and shakes.

Quiet has filled the room, but it’s not the same quiet of the nightmare, not the oppressive nothingness of the void.

Fingers brush her arm lightly and she jerks, breath wheezing from between her lips in a ragged hiss.

“Rory.” She knows this voice, trusts and cares for its owner. She struggles to draw herself farther away from the nightmare, back to where the voice is calling her.

She twists, blinking against the near darkness of her rooms into Loki’s worried face, partially illuminated by a lamp that’s been set at her bedside. She’s still shivering and it takes her a few moments to realize that she’s freezing cold and soaked in sweat. She reaches for him anyway.

“Loki.” Her voice breaks, throat raw from screaming, fingers clumsy as they fumble against empty air. He moves slowly, as one would with a skittish animal, scooting up to sit on the bed beside her. Carefully he gathers her in his arms and she burrows close, trying to make herself as small as possible, to block out the memories of what could only have been Hel.

Loki is talking softly into her hair, nonsense about how the day went, what flowers are blooming in the garden, what was served for dinner, but his voice helps soothe her, calming her frayed nerves.

It still takes her a long time to stop shaking.

“What did you see?” He eventually asks, voice gentle.

She blinks, before turning her eyes to the others in the room. Frigga, her mother, and Thor are standing by the door, dressed in their nightclothes and looking worried. There are deep scratches running down Thor’s forearms that bleed sluggishly, but he seems not to notice.

“I was drowning.” She whispers. Loki makes a humming noise as she turns and buries her face in his throat, trying to block out the images, but still they come, thick and fast.

“I was drowning in a river of dark water whose bed and shores where made of corpses.” The body under hers stills, before his arms tighten minutely around her and he draws a deep breath.

The bed dips and she starts, but it is only Frigga. She turns her head just enough so that she can see her Grandmother from the corner of her eye, but remain wrapped protectively in Loki’s arms. The older woman’s face is strained.

“Did you see any people you recognized?” She asks quietly. Rory shakes her head, clinging tighter to Loki.

“Only bodies.”

* * *

Frigga can sense Sif’s disapproval, but the warrior does not speak her misgivings aloud. That will not do.

“What is on your mind, Lady Sif?” She asks. They are headed for Frigga’s private training ground, which is secluded enough for a young princess to learn how to defend herself without the knowledge or mockery of the King’s guard.

“Lady Aurora is unsuited for combat.” Sif finally says. Frigga nods.

“Perhaps.” She acknowledges. Sif frowns, but continues.

“She is a scholar, first and foremost. But even if her body was stronger, she does not hold the temperament to kill, not in the way a battleground demands.” She said. Frigga stopped, turning her gaze to the lady warrior beside her.

“You are right, of course. Aurora holds none of the lust for battle that many Aesir warriors do, that her father does. She has not the temperament nor the stomach for killing. Unless provoked. However, I do not believe that is why she asked for this.” Sif blinked.

“What do you mean, My Lady?” She asks. Frigga smiled.

“Aurora is an academic and a philosopher, Sif. It makes her highly practical. She knows that, inevitably, she will stand against an opponent on the battlefield. And she knows that, when that time comes, she must win. She may not have been raised Aesir, but she understands our society, perhaps better than we do at times.” She started walking again, Sif taking a moment to catch up.

“So she asked for combat training to protect herself?” Frigga snorted.

“No, she asked so that she may one day protect others. Aurora is kind by nature, but not docile. The very thought of standing by while those she cares for are in danger grates at her. Anyone she deems ‘hers’ she will protect fiercely.” They fell into silence for a few moments before Sif spoke again.

“She is unsuited to broadsword or mace.”

“Aye.”

“A shield will slow her down, an axe is out of the question.”

“Mhmm.”

“She would do best with knives or short swords. Perhaps the bow.”

“Probably.”

“Why am I here, then?” Sif asked. She had been trained beside Thor and used to wielding heavier, bulkier weapons and brute strength. The finer, quicker blades were Loki and the Queen’s specialty. Frigga turned to her with a knowing smile.

“Because, even after she eats the apple of Idunn, Aurora will almost always be facing someone stronger than herself. Also, you understand her position. You will not take it easy on her simply because of her gender.” Said Frigga simply.

They enter the training ground to see Aurora already there, doing stretches. She looks up as they come closer and Sif watches in fascination as a change comes over the young princess. Her jaw sets and her eyes get a little bit darker. When she stands her back is straight and her hands flex at her sides.

She is ready.

Sif smiles.

* * *

Suggesting she ask for combat training from his mother is one thing, witnessing the results is entirely another.

“Let me see.” He says, the edge in his voice covering the hints of concern that tug at his heart.

Somehow, he does not think her fooled.

Rory rolls her eyes, but lets him examine her injuries, fingertips brushing feather-light over the bruise blooming dark against her cheek and the still bleeding split in her lip. He thinks he might make a plaintive noise, but he squashes the thought as soon as it appears.

He knows, without having to see, that there are more injuries. A bruised rib on her right side and a laceration on her left arm, to name a few. The logical part of his mind tells him that he suffered worse during his first training session, but the other part of him, the part ruled by his emotions, hates to see her in pain.

“I’m fine, Loki.” He comes back to himself to find her watching him, eyes gentle. Her smile is soft, despite her split lip, and he lets out a heavy sigh. His thumb rubs absently just under the bruise on her cheek, her skin like silk beneath his touch. He takes the opportunity to brush her bangs away from her forehead to see the thin, barely perceptible hairline scar that was her previous head injury.

“Seeing is different.” He explains. She nods.

“I imagine so. But the reward is worth the pain.” She says. He nods.

“I still don’t understand why you’re keeping them. A five-minute trip to Eir would erase them, and your pain.” He says. She shrugs one shoulder.

“My memory’s not as long as yours. I need a few extra reminders before the lesson sinks in completely. Once I learn to dodge instinctively, I’ll start asking to have them healed.” She replied. His lips purse, but he understands her logic, even if he doesn’t like it.

“Has Sif helped you pick a weapon, yet?” He asks. She grins, something like excitement sparking in her eyes.

“Short swords, mostly, but Grandmother is teaching me how to throw daggers. She said you could help me with that, too.” She said. He blinks in surprise, before chuckling. Trust his mother to find a way to get him involved.

“That I can.” He says, conjuring a small blade from thin air, which he twirls expertly between his fingers before flicking his wrist and sending it across the library to sink inches deep into a stone pillar.

Rory grins and claps facetiously and he rewards her with a mock bow. He conjures another dagger and holds it out to her.

“Now you try. I trust Mother has taught you the basics, at least?”

“Like how not to cut my fingers off? Yes, she covered that bit.” She said sarcastically, taking it from him and rolling the handle around in her palm. She turns and flips the knife so that she was grasping the blade between her fingers before pulling her arm back and letting it fly.

It lands with a thunk in the wall a good foot from the pillar, skewed heavily to the right.

“Well, at least you’re hitting your ‘target’ with the pointy end.” Says Loki, deadpan, and Rory turns to scowl at him.

“It’s only been a week, give me some credit.” She snaps. Loki laughed.

“On the contrary, it’s better than Thor has ever done.” He says.

“Is that why he favors that hammer so much?”

“Probably.” He smirks. Rory rolls her eyes.

“Alright, Genius, enough snark. Help me?” She asks. He smiles, genuine, before stepping up beside her and placing his hands on her hips.

“Stand like this.” He begins, correcting her stance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are never just dreams. 
> 
> Sorry for the long absence. But now I'm back, yay!


End file.
